


to debauch a commodore

by Medie



Category: Highlander: The Series, Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 11:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There was a time he would have been scandalized by this and he fully believes Sparrow is to blame that he is not.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	to debauch a commodore

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [kissin' a fool drabble-a-thon](http://medie.livejournal.com/1369027.html) but turned out a touch too long and I couldn't cut anything so I'm posting it as fic on its own. I blame this fic on rewatching POTC1 this weekend past.

*

It's fitting, Norrington believes, that at this particular time and in this particular place he should be found by a woman and a French one at that. It could have been no more perfect if Sparrow had arranged this particular indignity himself.

Which, the commodore thinks as he falls to the deck at her feet, is a highly likely thing.

She leans over him, coppery hair gleaming in the afternoon sun, and smiles. A tiny thing, he wonders hazily how she keeps command of her men. He says as much, mumbling that a woman should know nothing of such things.

Her laughter sets the playful tone of her answer. "Exactly what I would expect of a man, silly creatures that you are." She smiles again, gently sliding a hand over his brow and looks to her men. The command to take him to a cabin is as sharp as any captain of the Royal Navy.

Then she's gone and he's left bereft of her touch.

*

"You are a particularly uncommon woman," he comments one morning from where he sits, watching her practice with a blade. In the days that he's been aboard, he's spent more time abed as not and this is the first time he's properly seen her move. Her carriage is that of a noble woman but he can think of few which would lay hand to a sword like this. Resolutely he pushes Elizabeth's face from his mind and continues to speak, "I have known few gentlewomen who have such a skill for the sword."

Isabelle laughs and tosses him a blade, tilting her head in challenge. "Well," she teases, knocking her blade against his, "you are _English_." Her accent twists the word and he grins when she adds, "Thus, I will forgive your obvious lack of education."

He laughs then blames his dehydration for the fact she knocks him on his arse.

Many times.

*

As it turns out, Isabelle is not the captain though they treat her as such. The captain is a Highlander by the name of MacLeod who is quick to a grin and quick to a blade, all the while dangerously balanced on an invisible edge. It's meeting him and knowing Isabelle that suggests to Norrington neither is particularly close to being what they seem.

He's beginning to forget what forthright honesty looks like

"You are both lying to me," he says late one eve as they stand at watch.

MacLeod chuckles, a dark, strangely thrilling sound. "Everyone lies, Commodore," he glances at him, obviously amused. "We've just more practice and call to do it."

Norrington accepts that with a nod, it's true enough and made truer still by the captain's easy admission. "Someday, perhaps, Captain, you might see your way clear to telling me the truth?" Even he isn't sure if his words are plea or demand.

Another chuckle and MacLeod looks to the horizon. "Perhaps. But not today."

*

"You are a _countess_?!" Decorum is forgotten when Isabelle makes the sly admission, delicately licking cream off her finger. He had thought that she had some experience among royalty but nevertheless it is difficult to believe when she nods.

"Yes," her lips form a moue of disappointment. "But it sounds so _plain_ by your tongue."

Connor chuckles as James nearly chokes on his drink. Noble born ladies do not make such implications with their tone, nor do they admire a man so openly with their eyes. Isabelle has done both and more, openly making her home in the captain's bed. "You must forgive him," Connor teases, grinning at them both, "the Commodore is used to ladies of finer pretense."

Isabelle snorts. "Englishwomen, they are so _boring_ that it is no wonder their men take to the seas. How else are they to find any pleasure in life?" She shakes her head and reaches for her wine. "It is a wonder that your country manages to produce children."

James looks from one host to the other and shakes his head in wonder. They are playing with him and he thinks, perhaps, he is enjoying it.

There was a time he would have been scandalized by this and he fully believes Sparrow is to blame that he is not.

Isabelle surveys him from across the table and smiles. "Silly man," she sighs affectionately, "must you analyze everything?"

"It is a failing," he agrees, knowing he's had quite too much to drink. "One I believe you are working quickly to rid me of."

Connor and Isabelle share a grin that's nothing but lust and sin. "Have we succeeded?" Connor asks, reminding James of a sated lion at rest.

"You are very near to it, yes," James sighs. Their mission, it seems, is to leave him thoroughly debauched and the thought is thoroughly satisfying.

"Good," Isabelle smiles pertly. "More wine?"

*

He wakes to Connor's mouth and body hard against his. "Good god, man," he grumbles good-naturedly, feeling Isabelle's small hand grasping his cock again. "Do you two not rest?"

Connor chuckles and James groans when Isabelle sheaths herself on him, wondering if it is possible to die from such satisfaction.

He asks such in stuttering breaths, coming hard when Connor answers in a dark, promising moan, "Let us find out, shall we?"


End file.
